tellmewhataremywordsworth

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

Flowering Garden, 1888, Vincent van Gogh

Medium: oil,canvas

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

you would fit in my life like lightning in a cloud

i’ve heard it before, his rumbling thunder

the both of you deserters defaulting to drought

and when i couldn’t hold onto you anymore

leaving without my rain, no release

just heat lightning

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

my last post was 85 days ago, meaning this is the perfect time to make a return because 8+5=13

I apologize to my singular follower

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

nothing eloquent left to say; this is killing me

it’s a happy kind of pain

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

Reblog this if you’re the owner of an unmanned flying deskset, encourage the owner of said deskset that it wants to fly, or are the unmanned flying deskset. Nobody will ever know which one.

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

“Writing is like a spiritual manifestation of something deep within us we don’t really know is there.”

— Joyce Carol Oates

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

'run a botanical garden? why darling, i would love to'

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

Reblog this if you’re being chased by Walt Whitman, want to be chased by Walt Whitman or are Walt Whitman. Nobody will know which one.

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

Men kissing under tree, 1977-78, by  Kay Tobin Lahusen

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

“Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.”

Donna Tartt, The Secret History

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

i’ve started to love. i am alive and i am not alone, and i am loving.

i’ve spent - and i won’t say wasted - much - and i won’t say too much - time, energy interrogating my own emotions’ integrity. is this love? is this what it feels like? it can’t be, i say, because i don’t want it to be. it must, i say, because i do. this is it, but this is the first time, i say, because i fear that coming second lessens love’s significance.

i’ve treated my past self with such little regard, such lack of tenderness. i was stupid then; i’m stupid now. i call myself green as if it is a bad thing. i’m learning to respect my own fawn-like naïveté. there is no summer without the spring, but spring is just as if not more lovely on its own.

i’ve told myself this now, but i will always be green. i can only hope my future self loves my hue as much as i do. i’ve started to let myself love.

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

“Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.”

- Derek Walcott

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

I love him but I'm sure he doesn't love me. You know what this means? Time to write poetry about this even though I suck at poetry.

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

Siobhan Ferguson

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

Siobhan Ferguson

[tellmewhataremywordsworth]

i take a lot more pictures now i know you.

you’re in every picture on my phone, even the ones you aren’t.